


Travelling Light

by Fancy_Pants



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Banter, Cuddling & Snuggling, Episode: s01e02 Four Marks, M/M, Mild Hurt/Comfort, POV Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Sharing Body Heat, Sharing a Bed, Slow Burn, Tenderness, Wilderness Survival, disaster jaskier
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-22
Updated: 2020-03-22
Packaged: 2021-02-28 17:21:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,559
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23180881
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fancy_Pants/pseuds/Fancy_Pants
Summary: Jaskier is totally unprepared for wilderness travel. Geralt is totally unprepared for Jaskier. It's the start of a beautiful friendship.(Inspired by my keen observation that Jaskier never carries anything other than a lute case in the show. Instead of suspending my disbelief like a regular human, I wrote eight thousand words of fanfic about it. You're all welcome.)
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 54
Kudos: 286





	Travelling Light

They were a half-day's journey from Posada before Geralt noticed. The constant stream of words and singing from the bard was such an enormous presence on the road that it had distracted Geralt from a conspicuous absence. But now that they were taking a brief rest, and the bard had diverted his sonic energy to plucking out a simple melody on his lute, the realization snapped into focus. The bard had brought with him his voice, his lute, and nothing else.

Was it an oversight? Strange enough that the bard insisted on joining Geralt on his contract to hunt down this "devil" stealing grain throughout the valley. Had he also, in his misguided excitement, simply forgotten to bring anything useful with him? Geralt ventured a gentle reminder, "It looks like you've left all your gear behind. You'll need to turn around now to make it back to town by nightfall."

Jaskier looked up from the lute, unconcerned, "You mean my spare clothes? I left them behind at the inn." He turned his attention back to the music, as though the conversation was over.

Spare...clothes? Geralt felt that familiar bloom of tension between his eyebrows that indicated he was on the verge of caring about something he should really leave alone. "NO," he growled, "your _GEAR_. How are you planning to survive? In the wilderness."

The bard looked up again, his bright blue eyes not registering even the slightest flicker of doubt. "I don't mind travelling light. Besides, I'm with you. What else could I possibly need?"

Geralt assessed the scene, a small cloak and a few other odds and ends tucked into the case around the space for the lute. "I could make you a list," he said. But internally, he convinced himself to relax. This problem would take care of itself soon enough. The bard would shiver his way through an unpleasant night, and then head back to town the next day before the road became dangerous.

************  


Night had all but closed in around them by the time Geralt stopped to make camp. Geralt figured the best way to exhaust the bard into reconsidering this adventure was to stretch out the day's travel as long as possible. Jaskier immediately flung himself onto the ground, took his shoes off, and laid on his back, not missing a single beat in the story he was telling. Something involving his college friends and a young Countess and a performance at a ball in disguise. It was...amusing actually, although clearly embellished, and Geralt wondered how he summoned the energy to keep talking with such animation when his body was clearly spent. Where did all the words come from?

Geralt removed the saddlebags from Roach's back and started laying his bedroll out on the ground. When Jaskier realized what Geralt was doing he sat up slowly and hesitantly asked "So, ah. Straight to bed then?" he cleared his throat, "Are you going to eat? Have you eaten at all today?"

At several points during the day, Geralt had wondered if he should just sucker-punch the bard again, rather than waiting for him to realize the error of his ways. But the Path was often lonely and tedious, and what distractions it offered were never this harmless. And this part was going to be funny. "Witchers don't eat." 

Jaskier shook his head. "Don't. What?"

"Witchers don't eat. Well--" Geralt paused for a minute and tried to remember if the bard had seen him eating anything at the tavern last night. "Well, don't _need_ to eat," he amended, and willed his stomach not to growl. He certainly was hungry, but he had eaten well the night before, and had often forgone food for a day or two with only mild discomfort.

Jaskier's brow furrowed in concentration, "That can't be right," he said slowly, as though working through the implication.

"That's what the potions are for, some of them. Fuel. When food is scarce." Geralt casually reached for his bag and started rummaging around, "saves a lot of time hunting and foraging." Ah, there is was. A small vial filled with a clear, colourless liquid. He opened the cap and downed the contents. "Poison to humans, of course". It was just distilled grain alcohol, useful for making tinctures out of the various healing herbs he gathered, but Jaskier had no way to know that. And techically it _was_ poisonous to humans. "That'll keep me for the night."

Jaskier thought silently for a minute, appearing to make some furious mental calculations. "Well, this has been _fascinating_. Truly a delightful conversation. I must be going to--" he paused as another unpleasant realization dawned on him "--bed."

Jaskier wrapped himself in his cloak and laid down on the ground. Geralt's amusement lingered as he wondered if that was the last he would hear from the bard.

************  


Geralt returned from fetching water to find the campsite still cloaked in the quiet stillness of the morning. But the lute case was still there, sitting by the fire. So the bard hadn't crept back to the road in his absence. Surely by mid-morning the exhaustion and hunger would catch up to him, and if he turned around then, he would only have to sleep alone once before reaching civilization. Not quite the makings of a song, but perhaps a bit of an adventure nonetheless. 

He knew the bard had spent a hungry, restless night in the cold, curled up around his lute case, with only a thin cloak between him and the cold of the night sky and nothing to cushion the hard ground. Geralt had felt bad for the kid in spite of himself. But it was the right dose of hardship to inoculate him against the pursuit of further misadventures. 

He walked over to Roach and fixed one of the waterskins to her saddlebag. "Tough love," he said, patting her on her flank "was a significant component of my upbringing too."

Geralt turned as the now-familiar sound of humming emerged from the brush surrounding the campsite. Against all odds, Jaskier was _smiling_ , pleased with himself. The sun behind him was a halo of light in his hair, shining off of dewdrops and...was that...spiderwebs? Jaskier looked so completely in his element, of the elements, that for the briefest instant, Geralt felt like he had been played for a fool. Tricked by a fae creature feigning helplessness to get him to let down his guard. And then he noticed the dark circles under the bard's eyes, and familiar reality snapped back into place.

"--avail myself of the sweet provisions of the earth," Jaskier was, as always, in mid-conversation. He held up an elaborately-embroidered handkerchief folded into a small makeshift sack and filled with berries and what he dearly hoped were edible greens. "Not to worry, we are in a veritable valley of plenty," and then Jaksier suddenly froze, as though startled. Geralt looked around to see what had caught the bard's attention, and whether it was a threat, but there was nothing, and Jaskier was now humming to himself with the focused intention of a hunter tracking a quarry. Geralt's brow furrowed involuntarily as that feeling of unreality settled in on him again.

He shook his head and went about packing up camp while Jaskier's fragment of melody "valley of plenty, valley of plenty" melded into the background hum of the waking world.

************  


"Explain to me again why we're going up the big scary mountain instead of around the nice pleasant valley road?"

"I don't know why YOU'RE doing anything," Geralt gave Jaskier a pointed glance, "but it's more direct to take the mountain pass rather than looping all the way around." By mid-morning, they had turned off the road following the curve of the valley around to Dol Blathanna. As they continued upwards towards the mountain pass, the path became rockier and less well-maintained, eventually fading to a rough route marked only by waystones and faint footprints. "Based on the recent sightings of this devil-creature, it's been working its way around the valley. If we take this shortcut, we should be able to catch up to it on the other side."

The morning had slipped by almost without Geralt noticing it. The bard had taken to singing his way through the raunchiest songs in his repetoire. Amusing, yes--but not lovely like his lute-playing the day before. And it reminded Geralt of his least favorite parts of town life--crowded taverns and chaos and noise.

So he had asked the bard for a story. Jaskier, pleased to be asked, had paused a moment to collect his thoughts and clear his throat. Geralt was expecting another personal anecdote of questionable accuracy, told in the bard's usual light conversational tone. But when he began to speak, it was with a low, solemn voice, and a slow, deliberate cadence. Ah, a Story. An old folk tale, with magic and monsters and human tragedy. Familiar enough material to Geralt.

But even so, Geralt couldn't resist the pull of the Story and the mesmerizing rhythm of Jaskier's performance. So he requested another, and then another, and then was surprised to find that the sun had tracked so far west in the sky. And the bard was still with him. While the remnants of the last tale circled around Geralt's head, Jaskier had lapsed into a sort of monotonous, wordless hum. Five or six notes, sliding lower in pitch, forming a pattern that he repeated over and over again. The pattern itself kept sinking lower and lower down the bard's register as his walk became more of a shuffle, his feet barely lifting off the ground.

Geralt was startled out of his reverie when Jaskier stumbled forward, caught himself, and then immediately collapsed to his knees and fell flat on his face. And stayed there.

"Jaskier." Geralt jumped down from Roach and knelt beside him on the road. "Jaskier." He rolled the bard over onto his back, gently cradling the back of his head. There was a thin line of blood on forehead, but it didn't look serious. Head injuries could be deceptively bad for humans though. "Fuck. Jaskier, look at me." The bard eyes met his. They were, not unfocused per se, but he seemed to be struggling to keep them open. Was that bad? Geralt mentally grasped at any fragments about human medicine he could remember hearing. "Do you feel like you want to go to sleep? Or throw up?"

Jaskier coughed up a small chuckle, "I have felt both of those things all day." He opened his eyes fully and deliberately focused on Geralt. "I'm okay, I didn't hit my head". Geralt immediately stiffened in alarm. Jaskier laughed again, "I mean, I didn't hit my head HARD. There was a rock, it's just a little cut." He closed his eyes again, "I'm okay, really."

Geralt took a moment to consider what to do, still kneeling over Jaskier on the road. It was later in the day than he had realized. Had they stopped for water at all? Maybe once or twice, for Roach. But did Jaskier actually drink any? Or had he just kept talking and singing, his voice growing strangely sharp. It had sounded like excitement, but maybe it was the onset of delirium. Hard to tell with the bard. Geralt had been waiting for him to get uncomfortable and grumpy so he would finally turn around. But it seems that the bard had talked his way right through that stage without Geralt noticing. Would he just keep talking until he keeled over dead?

As though to answer his question, Jaskier laughed again, "It was COLD last night, right?"

Geralt, still lost in thought, replied, "hmm", to which Jaskier echoed in imitation "HMM", and then started giggling furiously. Fuck. Well that settled the question of what to do. The bard was far beyond travelling alone. At this point, the route was becoming tricky to follow, and while Geralt could draw him a rough map, he didn't trust him to follow it in this state. "Can you stand?"

Jaskier replied "HMMMmmmmmmmm!" and then continued giggling. So Geralt sighed, slung the bard's arm around his shoulder, tucked an arm behind his knees and carried him over to a springy patch of tussock. "Sit up," he growled, feeling weirdly flustered, and went to fetch his waterskin and bag of trail food. 

Returning with supplies, he sat down beside Jaskier and handed him the waterskin. "Drink." He tore a flatbread in half, and handed one piece to the bard. "And eat." Geralt idly started nibbling the other half. Oh, he _was_ hungry. The days had been long. The bard must really be suffering.

The bard gasped, and pointed the waterskin at Geralt in a gesture of accusation. "Food! AHA! You had food this whole time! You _DO_ need to eat." 

"DRINK. SOME. FUCKING. WATER." Geralt grabbed Jaskier's wrist with one hand, and a fistful of his hair with the other hand to force the waterskin to his lips. "Are you really willing to DIE of DEHYDRATION just so you can call me out on my bullshit?" Miraculously, Jaskier swallowed a few sips of water. But his eyebrows remained raised in question, so he clearly was not going to drop the issue.

Geralt took a deep breath and rubbed his temple. "I honestly thought you'd turn around once you realized you were in over your head. With no food, nothing for warmth."

Jaskier thought for a second, then looked away and said, softly, "But then I would have never seen you again, and I'd have missed my chance." 

Geralt had the nagging sense that there were some important loose threads in this conversation that he should address, but he buried that thought and went to look for his healer's kit. By the time he returned, Jaskier had managed a few bites of bread.

"We'll take a rest here. I'll hunt us something for dinner. And then we'll move on when you're ready." He cupped his hand against the back of the bard's neck to stabilize his head while he cleaned the wound. He could feel Jaskier's pulse beat strangely fast as the bard repeated, "we?"

Geralt gritted his teeth and huffed a breath out his nose. How difficult could it possibly be to send one bard home? Jaskier should be receptive to the idea now, but he would not survive the two-day journey in this state. "Yes, we. You need a good meal and some sleep and a lot more water before you can travel alone safely." And then, he didn't gruffly scold the bard about making good decisions and being prepared. Instead, against his better judgement, he allowed himself a small smile, and hooked a finger under Jaskier's chin. "And besides," he tilted the bard's head slightly upward so their eyes met, "I want to hear another story."

************  


It wasn't until the fire had settled into a calm crackling that Geralt realized how quiet the campsite had been. Was the bard foraging again? There wouldn't be much for him to find, here. The route had led them up into a landscape dominated by low shrubs and scattered grasses, which could yield some edible seeds or berries perhaps, in season. But it wouldn't be worth the effort. Food for birds, really.

Besides, there were far better things to eat now. Geralt sat down and set to work plucking and gutting the pheasant. The mystery of the bard's current absence would resolve itself soon enough, and surely the complication of his presence would resolve itself as well. Surely. Food and water had rallied his spirits far more than Geralt expected, but his path for tomorrow was where the road truly became treacherous. Once the bard realized that their path would take the _up_ the cliffside looming on the horizon, rather than around it. Well. He made a mental note to hunt again in the morning so he could send the kid on his way with a the makings of another good meal.

When Jaskier returned, it was with an armload of dry grasses and a look of dismay at the already-lit fire. "I brought, uh, kindling for a fire. Which has already been very much kindled, I see. Well, is there anything else I could do? Fetch water? Or ahh...hmm." Jaskier looked around the campsite "You're already making dinner. How efficient." His attention returned to the fire. "Speaking of which, how DID you light it so quickly? In my limited experience, it's a whole process with burning little things at first and then slowly working up to medium things, and so on."

Geralt grinned and set down his knife and turned to cast a small Igni at the rock face behind him. The few grasses clinging to the breaks in the rock ignited and then quickly burned themselves out. Taking advantage of Jaskier's momentary speechlessness, Geralt asked, an unsettling thought dawning on him, "What exactly did you mean by 'limited experience'?". 

Jaskier took a long pause, thinking. "Well, I've certainly _seen_ fires, been warmed by them, that sort of thing. You know, basic fire-awareness."

The unsettling thought grew into a depressing realization, "Would you be able to light a fire out here if you had to? Do you have anything with you to start a fire at all?" The uncharacteristic silence from Jaskier was answer enough. Geralt sighed, "How have you survived this long in the world?" 

Jaskier shuffled nervously, "Growing up in my father's estate it was more of the, uh, servants' job. And then I was in college, and now. Well, I'm usually in a tavern. If I'm sleeping rough...ish, there are other people around and it just. It just never came up."

Geralt burst out laughing with relief, as several things clicked into place in his head. That explained SO much. A nobleman's son. He wondered what his father would think of this escapade. "We have lived very different lives, bard." He pulled a flint and a strip of steel from the bottom of a saddlebag. "Come here. I'll show you how to make a spark with these. Those grasses will make good tinder."

Jaskier sat down beside him. Geralt continued, "You can take my flint with you tomorrow. We'll practice again in the morning before I leave you." He glanced over at the horizon, "Early. Those clouds are going to bring rain."

************  


"This isn't your best song, bard", Geralt commented, out of curiosity, not unkindness. Jaskier was softly plucking his lute while Geralt laid by the fire watching the clouds slowly cover up the stars. Not quiet, but peaceful.

Jaskier looked up from his lute. He had been playing simple patterns of notes, up and down, over and over for long time. "This? Oh, this is a technical exercise. It's just for practice." He took a moment to roll his wrists in circles and gently stretch them. "I didn't get a chance to play much yesterday, and I feel kind of...itchy if I go too long without it, so."

"You do this every day?" Geralt hadn't really considered that there was more to being a bard than just carrying a lute and being loud in public.

"Yes. More or less. Although I should really be more accomodating to my audience. Scales aren't a lot of fun for you to listen to. What kind of music do you like?"

Geralt bit back a reflexive jab about silence and actually considered the question. He propped his head up on an arm and turned to look at Jaskier. "Not. Not so much tavern songs. But the lute is nice." To be honest, it had been pleasant to have around. He added, "really nice."

Jaskier smiled, almost shyly, and plucked a few notes, gathering his thoughts. He settled into a simple melody, repeated, and then echoed on a lower string, like two voices in conversation. The voices traded the melody back and forth, casually, sometimes murmuring in agreement over one another. A third voice entered the discussion, and then a fourth, all sharing and repeating this melody, sometimes elaborating on it, sometimes breaking and rebuilding it. It became a whirlwind of musical chatter, too busy for Geralt to follow, but all the parts fit together, a familiar banter. At some point a second melody had entered the conversation and was woven together with the first. As the piece went on, the conversation turned frantic and eventually the melodies shattered into fragments. The voices picked up the pieces, repeating them at higher and higher pitches until the tension was overwhelming and all the voices shouted in unison. Then they drifted away until only one was left, singing the same simple melody from the beginning. Geralt was mesmerized.

Jaskier finished playing and looked up at Geralt and laughed, "Ah, so you liked that one?"

Geralt just stared for a moment. Where had that come from? "One?" he managed to croak, "More?"

Jaskier beamed, "Yeah, I know a few more of those," and bent his head to play again. Geralt closed his eyes and let the music wash over him. He wondered whether his quiet nights would feel different once the bard was gone.

************  


In the end, he didn't send the bard away. The clouds did indeed descend on them, bringing a cold, driving mist that reduced the world to a formless grey blur. Following the route in this weather was going to require concentration even for Geralt. He could all too easily imagine the bard missing a waystone and wandering in the wilderness until he died of exposure. No, at this point, Jaskier was safer to stay with him, cross the mountain pass, and follow the valley road back to Posada. If Geralt's suspicions about this "devil" were true, the hunt was going to be more sad than dangerous anyways. At worst, the bard would come out of this with a depressing ballad about poverty and desperation.

Within an hour of breaking camp, the real upward climb had begun. It was like an endless staircase of rough terrain. Geralt had to lead Roach on foot and was glad of the breakfast they had cooked on the coals of their fire. It felt good, to give his body something to attack. He could feel all his muscles coordinated and moving fluidly with the stride he had learned long ago to conserve energy. Watching the bard practice on his lute had reminded him that he had gotten lax with his own technique, this late in the year. So focused his awareness on the motion of the climb while visualizing his attack and defense forms. Between the mental and physical exertion and navigating the route, he slipped into a pleasant meditative state. No need for stories or songs. 

Which was just as well. Jaskier's impressive lung capacity was almost fully occupied with keeping pace with the witcher up the mountain. Geralt caught the occasional muttered comment or gentle hum, but for long stretches there would be nothing. Periodically, the silence would lay heavy enough on Geralt to snap him out of his flow, and he would turn around in panic, fearing that Jaskier had fallen too far behind. But there he would be, a few paces away, breathing heavily and too focused on his feet to notice Geralt's concern. A quiet bard. How unsettling.

"You have to tell me if you feel bad." Geralt was watching Jaskier drink from the waterskin, during one of their frequent stops, at Geralt's insistence. This would be a bad place for Jaskier to collapse out of neglect. Again.

Jaskier met his eyes as he took a slow swallow. "Promise me," Geralt said. Jaskier just nodded. Geralt sighed and said, "It's weird to have you not talking. Promise me with words."

"It's hard." Jaskier said slowly, "This is hard. I've never done anything like this before and I don't know what it's supposed to feel like. I mean, I definitely feel bad! I don't know how much longer I can keep up, but I've been thinking that for a long time. Since before our first stop. But I just keep going somehow."

"Hmm" Geralt was going to have to do a lot of guesswork here again. Usually when he was pushed to physical extremes, it was in the middle of a fight, and he was so hopped up on potions that he didn't feel anything at all. "I don't know how human bodies work. And clearly, neither do you." He couldn't shake the memory from the day before of Jaskier seeming perfectly fine until he abruptly wasn't. "Did you have no idea, no warning at all, that you were about to pass out yesterday?"

Jaskier blinked. "I was having fun." Geralt glared at him, in disbelief. Jaskier continued, "I didn't want to think about it. If I stopped to rest, if I told you I was feeling sick, you would have sent me back and gone on without me."

"I DID send you back. Multiple times. I PUNCHED you directly in the DICK, Jaskier." Geralt took a moment and smoothed his brow crease with his fingertips. This wasn't the point. He took a breath and sat down beside Jaskier, their backs against the large boulder that was protecting them from the worst of the wind and mist. "Look at me. I am going to take care of you now. I'm not going to leave you here to die, and I'd rather not carry you all the way back down this mountain. So I need you to pay attention to how your body feels. If anything feels unusual, or starts changing very quickly, you have to tell me." 

"Okay. Yes." Jaskier winced, "I don't know! It's all unusual! But I will take this," he gestured vaugely at himself, "to be the new normal, and if things get any _more_ unusual from here, I will definitely tell you. Right away."

Geralt let out a long breath. Well, they had been keeping a decent pace so far, and they were reasonably sheltered here, so they might as well stretch this break out a bit longer. "Okay, let's try this instead. Can you tell me how you're feeling right now? Physically."

Jaskier thought this over for a long while. "I feel...cold? A bit." Well, they had been sitting still for a few minutes and he was wearing the world's thinnest, dumbest cloak, so that wasn't alarming. "And. Sparkly." Geralt frowned. Jaskier continued, "Or maybe the world is sparkly."

Leave it to a poet. "You truly have a way with words, bard. That is extraordinarily unhelpful."

"But DARK sparkly." Ah, okay. Geralt had a hunch.

"Jaskier. Are you hungry? I think you might be feeling light-headed from hunger."

"No." Jaskier gave it a bit more thought, and then scrunched his face up. "No, definitely not hungry. No, no, no."

Geralt punched Jaskier in the arm, and went to get something from one of the saddlebags. It wasn't meant for damage, but it was hard enough to get a reaction. Jaskier cradled his arm, "WHY? You said you were done with the punching!"

Geralt returned with something small wrapped in cloth and sat back down beside Jaskier. He leaned his face in close to Jaskier's so that their eyes were mere inches away, and said in a low, deliberate growl, "When we get off this mountain, you will write a song about me. And in this song, which you will sing in every tavern in every town across the whole of the North, you will tell of the most generous man who has ever walked this fair earth." Jaskier's eyes darted down and then back up, warily. Geralt continued, "If you are feeling dark sparkly and not hungry at all, then you are probably too hungry. And that is Bad. So take a bite of this," and he unwrapped the cloth to reveal a small square of honeycomb, "and then tell me if you are truly not hungry."

The honeycomb had barely passed Jaskier's lips before his eyes widened in a flash of understanding. "OH. I am. Yup. I am definitely hungry. Is that what the dark sparkles were about yesterday?"

Geralt grunted and took the honeycomb back. A rare, painstakingly-rationed treasure. "Let's get you some real food."

************  


"Fuck. FUCK." Geralt cast two Aard signs in rapid succession at the wall of boulders in front of him. They just begun their descent, following a narrow ledge that skirted around the side of the mountain, but their path forward was blocked by a recent rockslide. The witcher's magic did nothing to clear the way, and triggered a small shower of pebbles from the cliff face above them. "Fuck" he muttered to himself. That was a dumb thing to do.

"Is there a way around? Or over?" Jaskier asked, stepping up beside him.

"Not for Roach." Geralt had been thinking the same thing. The alternative was unpleasant. It was hard to estimate the time of day in this weather, but it was mid-afternoon at least. Their pace had slowed as the wind had picked up, obscuring the route with cold rain, and then snow. The waystones were spaced with fair weather in mind, and often he couldn't tell what direction to head in. For long stretches, Geralt had to leave Jaskier at one waystone, strike out blindly until he had another waystone in view, then call to Jaskier to come meet him. And then repeat the process, over and over. It was better than losing the route entirely, but it was slow going, and left them with little daylight to spare. Now, any amount of backtracking was going to cost them their chance to descend back to the valley by nightfall.

"What should we do?" Even standing next to him, Jaskier nearly had to yell to be heard over the wind.

"I'm THINKING about it."

"Well, try thinking out loud. It's too cold to just stand around brooding."

"Fine. We can't go forward, and we can't go around," Geralt gestured to the steep slopes on either side of them, "so we'll have to backtrack and traverse the other side of the mountain peak, IF it's even traversable, without a route marked. Except that will take far too long to do in daylight. So either we pick out an unknown route around the mountain or backtrack all the way back to the valley road--" Geralt looked over at Jaskier, soaked and shivering and exhausted, and sighed. "We need to find shelter for the night. That's what we should do."

Jaskier gave a calculating look at Roach, and then at the path in front of them, and said hesitantly, "So--"

"If you even SUGGEST leaving Roach here, I will abandon you with NO remorse."

"What? No!" Jaskier looked genuinely horrified at the thought, "I wouldn't--I could never. But it's too narrow here for her to turn around."

Even walking single-file had become difficult, especially with the headwind gusting unpredictably around them. Geralt sighed, "No. She'll have to back up for--hmm. Some distance." A gust slammed into his side, nearly upsetting his balance. "I'm going to go back and clear the path of any stones she might trip on. You stay here with her, keep her calm. This might be a little while."

Jaskier nodded, bracing himself against another icy blast. This would be an unpleasant place to wait. Geralt continued, "There is some grain in the saddlebags. You can feed her if she gets restless." A distraction for both of them.

After long painstaking while, the three of them had made their way off the ledge and turned around. They were still in the middle of the clouds, everything shrouded in grey. It was going to be hard to find somewhere sheltered unless they passed very close by it. Geralt dismissed the worry forming in his mind. They had to keep moving. There was nothing else to be done.

"Let's start heading back," Geralt said, turning around to look at Jaskier.

Jaskier was half-squatting, rubbing his hands together frantically. He didn't look up.

"What is it? Jaskier. What's wrong" Geralt stepped over and knelt down beside him "Hey."

Jaskier looked up at him, eyes wild with panic, and said in a small voice, "I can't feel my fingers." Geralt took the bard's hands in his. They were bloodless, his delicate fingers white and stiff with cold. An image flashed into his mind from the night before, of Jaskier drawing that astonishing music out of his lute, his fingers a blur over the strings. Jaskier's voice pitched higher with fear, "I've heard, in the winter. People losing. They stay outside too long they get too cold and then." Jaskier was breathing far too rapidly now, becoming incoherent. "Their fingers, they lose, they have to cu--"

"Shhhh, you're okay, you're okay," Geralt wrapped up one hand between both of his, lifted it to his mouth and blew a warm breath onto it. He rubbed his hand gently for a minute, then switched to Jaskier's other hand. They felt utterly lifeless. The wind still howled mercilessly around them, and after a few minutes, Jaskier was shivering uncontrollably. And not just from fear. 

"Geralt," Jaskier pleaded, his eyes desperate, "I can't lose them."

"You won't. I promise." They needed shelter though. They were completely exposed here, a gently rising slope to their right, and a flat expanse to their left. Geralt looked around for anything at all that could give them a break from this wind. There were a few scattered boulders, not far ahead of them. It wasn't much, but it would have to do. "Come on." He hauled Jaskier to his feet. 

The largest boulder was maybe half his height, but it offered a flat face on the side away from the wind. Geralt sat Jaskier down with his back against the rock and grabbed his own cloak from the saddlebag. Jaskier gasped tiredly, a pale imitation of his usual theatrics, "You've been holding out on me again."

Geralt grunted, "I was hoping to have something dry for tonight. But this is more important." He knelt over Jaskier, gingerly straddling his legs, and draped the cloak over both of them, Geralt's body throwing off enough heat to create an instant bubble of warmth inside it. He reached under Jaskier's cloak and maneuvered his arms out of his doublet. Jaskier gave a small huff, "Really? The solution is less clothing?"

Geralt smiled and loosened his own shirt from his waistband and placed Jaskier's palms against the warmth of his skin, briefly rubbing the back of each of his hands, one at a time. Then he took Jaskier's exposed arm, still sheltered under Geralt's cloak, and rubbed it with both hands, starting at the wrist, working his way up to the shoulder, and then back down. Geralt rested his head in the crook of Jaskier's neck to keep the motion from jostling his cloak out of place. The friction added to the heat between them, and Geralt relaxed a bit, settling more of his weight onto Jaskier's legs. Jaskier responded by humming a small sigh, and shifting his hands to Geralt's back, hugging him in closer.

"Ooh, ouch!" Jaskier was clenching and unclenching his hand, "it's not a _good_ feeling, but I can feel this one again." He started drumming his fingers against Geralt's back. Geralt started to work on his other arm until both of Jaskier's hands were active. 

"There. Good." Geralt mumbled into the side of Jaskier's neck. "I was worried that the fine people of Posada would be forever deprived of their least-favorite troubador's lute playing." 

"They'll be deprived either way. I fucking hate that town."

"Me too." Geralt could feel Jaskier's pulse against his cheek. He pulled his cloak even tighter around them and closed his eyes, feeling lulled by the warmth and the slow rhythm of Jaskier's breathing. He spent a pleasant moment imagining just falling asleep like this, giving in to this bit of comfort. But they had to move on soon, find real shelter for the night. He could hear the wind still whipping away furiously.

"Were you?" Jaskier asked, angling his cheek to rest on the top of Geralt's head, "worried about me?"

Geralt sat up and took Jaskier's hands in his. Oh, they felt good. Warm and alive. So there was that, at least. "Hmmmm." He looked around at the barren, frozen landscape around them. "I still am." He wrapped his cloak around Jaskier and rose to his feet.

************  


With both Geralt and the bard riding on Roach, it was only a matter of time before the horse succumbed to exhaustion. But keeping Jaskier from succumbing to the cold was the more immediate problem. The wind hadn't relented, driving at their backs now, and the only way to shelter Jaskier from the cold was to ride behind him. He was still lucid, apparently, telling a story at Geralt's request. The words were lost to the wind, but Geralt could feel them vibrating in his body, and was reassured that the bard was okay for now.

But daylight was fast fading, with no sign of shelter, and Geralt's world had narrowed down to two equally bad options. They could keep continuing back the way they came, with Geralt leading them on through the night. It would leave Jaskier vulnerable to the wind and cold, and risked injury or worse for all of them descending those steep slopes, now slippery with rain. Or they could veer off the route in search of shelter for the night, but there was no guarantee they would find it. Not good. He couldn't fault himself for the elements--the unseasonable storm, the rockslide, the singularly hostile topography of this gods-forsaken mountain. But he shouldn't have led Jaskier up here, so hopelessly unprepared. He should have slipped out of camp that first morning before dawn, and ridden hard. He could have left food and water behind and travelled light and fast, taking only silence with him.

And yet, there they were, with the constant, comforting thrum of Jaskier's words between them.

"Maybe it was that one!" Jaskier turned around suddenly, pointing at the waystone they had just passed. Presumably he was pointing. He was wearing Geralt's spare socks on his hands, so it was hard to tell, but he was gesturing vaguely in that direction.

"The one what?"

"The one with the house!" Jaskier said with the enthusiasm and confidence of a man experiencing a pleasant hallucination. Which also happened to be Jaskier's normal level of enthusiasm and confidence, so Geralt had no idea how alarmed he should be. Then Jaskier attempted to hurl himself face-first off of the horse.

"Whoa!" Geralt said to both Roach and Jaskier, and grabbed Jaskier tightly around the waist. "Are you dying right now? Do you remember where you are? What my name is?"

"No. A dumb mountain. Geralt. Some of those waystones have messages on them. I've noticed a few of them today--the ones that come in pairs, like _that one_. I want to go look at it." Geralt gave him a long, worried look over. "I'm FINE Geralt, let me go." Jaskier started thrashing around ineffectually.

"If you stay still for a SECOND," Geralt tightened his grip, "and promise me you won't go running off after a mirage." Jaskier scowled, which was adorable, but he also went deliberately still. Geralt bit back a smile and dismounted, "I can't take you seriously with those socks on your hands." He helped Jaskier down.

Up close, Geralt could see that one of the two waystones did indeed have markings on it, but it was nothing he recognized. "What does it say?"

"It _is_ the house! Well, technically, it means 'dwelling' or 'abode'. But I mean, in this context, it must be pointing towards shelter of some sort." Jaskier was shivering again, exposed to the wind like this, but he seemed too excited to notice. 

"In what language?" Geralt desperately wanted Jaskier to be right, but the markings were completely alien to him.

"In the Elder tounge. In the original runic writing. Before the language was translated into human script. It's the last thing I expected to see up here, but this valley was once settled by elves, so maybe it's really old."

Quite likely that this route was originally developed by the elves. "Why would you know how to read Elder runes?" Geralt bent down to look more closely. The inscription was still clear even though the elves had left this area long ago. Strange. But still, it promised shelter.

"Oh, I learned all sorts of useless things in college," Jaskier replied with too-deliberate casualness through chattering teeth.

"Not so useless now." It was the best chance they had.

************  


The marker pointed them nearly perpendicular to the route, up a gently sloping ridge. The last of the daylight had expired by the time they crested the ridge and found themselves standing at the top of a steep drop of about 10 meters. Biting back frustration, Geralt navigated them in a wide circle, following the ridgeline downwards, and then circling back where they began, but at the bottom of the cliff. It was a solid rock face, already sheltering them from the worst of the wind. A jumble of rock spilled out of a large crack in the cliffside. Geralt picked his way through the boulders up to the cliff face and found--almost a cave. Just big enough for the three of them.

Geralt went back for Jaskier first. He helped him off Roach--he practically fell into his arms, and carried him into the shelter. Jaskier was silent. Since they spotted the waystone, it had been nearly an hour of painstaking navigation in the dark. Geralt had led Roach, with Jaskier riding and completely exposed to the cold. He was nearly unresponsive now. His eyes fluttered open briefly as Geralt laid him on the ground. "I'll be right back with Roach."

Once the three of them were settled in the shelter, Geralt worked quickly and deliberately, swallowing the distraction of panic the way he had done so many times before in his life. He took off their clothes, his and Jaskier's, arranged his bedroll on the ground and set Jaskier on top of them. He spread out their cloaks on top of both of them and set about trying to rub life back into Jaskier's limbs. When he felt sufficiently warmed by the movement, he rolled Jaskier onto his side, facing him, and laid down beside him, chest to chest. He tangled their legs together, cradled Jaskier's head into the crook of his neck with one hand and rubbed rough circles on his back with the other. 

Jaskier briefly mumbled something, but then fell silent again. Even the sound of the wind was faint. That ball of panic started to crawl back up Geralt's throat. There was nothing more he could do. He could start a fire, but there was nothing to burn. Silence. He could hear the blood rushing in his ears. His own heartbeat, inhumanly slow. "Jaskier," he whispered. Silence. The bard showed signs of life. A pulse, the rise and fall of his breath. "Jaskier. Jaskier," a bit louder. There was warmth in his own body, flooding the space between them. "Jaskier." There was nothing else for him to do and there was silence.

So he told Jaskier a story. "Once upon a time, a wise young bard went adventuring in the wilderness. These are the things he brought with him: A warm cloak, a large waterskin, plenty of food, a bedroll, a flint..."

************  


"Can I put my clothes back on now?" Jaskier was sitting up, with Geralt and the cloaks draped around his shoulders. He was slowly picking his way through the remaining trail food. Geralt had laid out in front of Jaskier every single edible thing that didn't need to be cooked the moment he showed signs of wakefulness.

"No." Geralt responded by hugging Jaskier in even more tightly and hooking his chin around the bard's neck. He was dreading that part. Their clothes were still damp from the rain yesterday, and putting on wet clothes in the cold was a singularly unpleasant sensation. Far better to enjoy this shared warmth as long as possible. He chewed thoughtfully on a piece of dried venison as he considered his options for the day.

"Aghhh, Geralt! You're chewing directly in my ear." Jaskier tried unsuccessfully to wriggle out of Geralt's iron grip.

"Oh, I'm sorry, bard. Am I disturbing your peace?" Geralt moved his mouth even closer to Jaskier's ear and made exaggerated chewing noises. "Disrupting the tranquility of the morning?"

"Auuughhh!" Jaskier swiveled his head around to face Geralt. "First of all, UGH!" He made a noise of disgust, "and second of all, ACH!," a noise of offended protest, "I know what you're implying. How DARE you compare my _Generous_ offering of stories and songs to your gross face noises."

Geralt smiled fondly, "You're going to miss my gross face noises when we part ways."

"What do you mean 'part ways'? Geralt, I'm still coming with you."

"You can't be serious. You're lucky to be alive right now."

"And YOU'RE lucky to have had me with you to read those Elder runes." Half of the bard's face was still lined with sleep-creases and under his eyes were bruised with exhaustion. But he still, somehow, looked bright with enthusiasm.

Geralt was not willing to lose the thread of this conversation. "YOU slept through the part where you nearly died, so maybe that's why you're not taking this seriously. I'm not risking you up here on this mountain while I blindly try to find a route around the rockslide. The only alternative is to backtrack down to the valley road, where I WILL leave you." He diverted his gaze away from Jaskier's wounded expression, and said, softly, "I will have to ride hard now if I'm going to have any chance of catching up with this so-called devil."

He looked back at Jaskier, who was now grinning. Jaskier cleared his throat and announced grandly, "I may have a third option."

************  


"I'm not exactly filled with confidence." For the second time in two days, Geralt stood puzzling over strange markings carved onto an upright rock. At least this time the air was still and clear, and the sun was warm on his back.

"Okay well it means something *like* a road, and this symbol means 'second' or 'other'. I'm not FLUENT." Jaskier was gesturing excitedly with his hands, "but this clearly points to an alternate route over the mountain. No more backtracking. AND! I'm staying with you." He placed his hands on his hips, triumphant.

Geralt gave a non-committal "Hmm," and then turned his attention back to the stone. "The inscription is barely weathered at all. It just doesn't make sense. This is NEW. No one uses this route anymore and especially no one who communicates in an old form of Elder speech." Jaskier pointedly raised an eyebrow. Geralt rolled his eyes and continued, "Other than _you_ , and you have no business being up here. What, a bunch of your Oxenfurt buddies are camping out up here, dressed up as elves and reciting poetry at each other?"

Jaskier appeared to be giving that question entirely too much thought, so Geralt continued, "It's more likely been co-opted into a smuggling route, or a hideout for fugitives. Which means desperate and dangerous humans. Exactly what I was hoping to avoid by coming up here."

"Well, _I'm_ going." Jaskier turned and started walking in the direction indicated by the marker. "You can take the valley road if you want, Geralt. I'll meet you on the other side."

Geralt muttered an exasperated "fuck". He considered calling Jaskier's bluff and continuing on his way. But that approach had been spectacularly unsuccessful so far. "Jaskier," he caught up to the bard and grabbed the back of his shirt. "We can try this on two conditions. We will turn back if the route becomes at all difficult to follow. And we will turn back if we are not starting our descent from the other side of the mountain by mid-day. And if there is any trouble, anything at all, you will do _exactly_ as I say."

Jaskier's face broke back into a delighted smile, "That was three conditions, but I agree."

Geralt took a lazy swipe at the side of the bard's head, but Jaskier ducked, winked, and walked away singing.

************  


"Admit it! Admit that I saved the day, Geralt!" It had been an uneventful trek, the weather fine and the route easy to follow, looping around the peak and back down to the valley. The elvish script on the waystones would remain a mystery--there had been no signs of life on the mountain. If it involved humans, which it likely did, Geralt was happy to stay out of it. Jaskier, drunk on sunshine and radiating smugness, had spend the walk composing a ballad in his own honour. An absurdly catchy tune coalescing around a now-familiar refrain of "oh valley of plenty, oh valley of plenty."

"So much for 'a humble bard'" Geralt grumbled, "Speaking of which, can you please leave my name out of your stupid song. It's not even remotely accurate!" They had made camp in the valley, eaten well off of Geralt's hunting, and were settled in for the night, lying beside the fire. "Besides, you were going to write songs to benefit MY reputation."

"Oh Geralt, you can't expect me to do everything around here. I found you shelter, found you a route off the mountain. I even built this fire." Jaskier had, with considerable coaching from Geralt, lit the campfire himself. "It makes me wonder what _your_ role is in all this."

"Bold words from a man who nearly froze to death last night."

"Oh, now _you're_ the one exaggerating. Maybe you should take over barding for me. Tell me a bedtime story."

Geralt let out a long sigh and turned onto his side, maneuvering the bard's back against his chest and looping an arm around his waist "Go to sleep."

"I know you can do better than that. In fact, weren't you talking to me last night? It almost sounded like a story." Words just kept tumbling out of the bard's mouth, unhindered by exhaustion.

Geralt closed his eyes and smiled at the now-familiar sensation of Jaskier's voice humming through the contact, "I'm glad you were paying attention. I was listing all the things you should have brought with you if you seriously hoped to survive this journey."

Jaskier continued, cheerful and conversational, "Ah, yes, I think I remember. The things I needed to bring. Let me see: a cloak, way too large to fit me; some honeycomb; a very warm, grumpy friend; an extra pair of socks to wear on my hands; and an extremely comprehensive linguistic education. Am I missing anything? Are there any other necessities for a good night's sleep in the big scary wilderness?"

And because Jaskier was immune to intimidation, there was no harm in growling in his ear, in his deepest, roughest voice, "BLESSED SILENCE".

Jaskier replied, unfazed as always, "Oh, I don't think we need THAT."

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading this wilderness safety PSA thinly disguised as a Witcher fic. I love this fandom almost as much as I love these two sweet idiot boys, so I am really excited to share this with all of you.
> 
> Big thanks to [panfriedeggs](https://archiveofourown.org/users/panfriedeggs/pseuds/panfriedeggs) for encouraging me to write this and beta-ing it for me. And most importantly, for being a part of some of my favorite real-life hiking disasters.
> 
> Hang out with me on [Tumblr](https://pantsy-fancy.tumblr.com)!


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